A Cold Cup of Tea
by Dyslexic Angel
Summary: Fai has a chance encounter with someone who isn't a friend, and shares a cold cup of tea and a taste of cold comfort.  not!AshuraFai, past AshuraFai, light shonenai.


This was a beast to write. Most of my oneshots are at most, a quarter this long, but I like it. Note I have read only as far as the English manga has been officially released in America; therefore I made up Fai's backstory, and it may or may not be accurate. No spoilers in reviews, please; enjoy!

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A Cold Cup of Tea

Fai was not sure whether he liked this world or not. It was very like his home world, and there in lay the duality, for Fai _missed_ his home, almost as passionately as he wished never to return. There was beauty, in the scrolling glyph work that channeled magic; there was even a sort of pristine elegance in the perfect snowfall that hid the graceful carvings common to his land. Then there was the cold which Fai had once hated with a distant fire, before growing to love it, only to discover an newer, raw hatred in the pain it now evoked. So it was that he first eyed the well-brushed busy streets with something very like dismay.

"Mage?" Kurogane, apparently, had noticed the wizard's unusual silence. Fai gave him something that could pass for a reassuring smile.

"We should find somewhere for Sakura to lay down, Kuro-pii." The phrase was an utter non-sequitur, the tone lacking it's usual flippancy, but the ninja accepted it at face value, something for which Fai was thankful. "I believe it's going to snow..." The smile Fai turned to the grey sky was more than usually mysterious, and his voice was soft.

They began to walk through the narrow streets, pale grey light lending everything an air of surreality. He examined each door as they walked, each sign, and the more he looked the more familiar the words were; almost, but not quite the elegant script of his homeland. Slight variations, a longer line here, a stronger curve—but readable.

"Here." Fai said, holding a hand up to stop them. "This should be lodgings, of one sort or another." Kurogane was giving him a strange look, which he deflected with a smile. "I can read some of the script." he explained to the puzzled looks of the others. "This reads as 'place to be', more or less. Where I come from it's the common term for a traveler's rest stop." The promised snow was starting to fall.

Kurogane thought that Fai looked far too at home in the loose robes and tight shirt of this country, moved far too smoothly in the confining clothes. That smile he wore was just a touch off from even his usual cold one. Kurogane wasn't sure what it was about this place, something here upset the mage. It would be best to find the feather quickly, and leave as soon as possible.

He was alone, now, on the cold street. The snow had remained light, the air chill with a hint of moisture. Fai found himself wishing for a cup of tea, for a bit of warmth—for a golden tower literally worlds away. He was supposed to be picking up supplies; food, and a few more sets of clothes, perhaps something for the Dimension witch. Instead of any organized effort—say, asking for directions (he'd discovered the spoken lounge, like the written, was similar enough to understand without Mokona) Fai found himself more inclined to wander, to drink in the bittersweet sights. He wondered idly if they would have proper tea here, not the dark, bitter beverage his companions called by that name.

His first stop was a small, curtain-windowed boutique selling clothing that had been fashionable a good thirty years before, if his conversation with the clerk had been accurate. The styles were not so achingly familiar, and they looked more to his companion's taste. More, they were priced reasonably. Fai payed in the small copper coins they had gotten from the innkeeper, along with Fai's current clothes in exchange for what he'd been wearing and one of the small gemstone drops he retained from his home world. He'd been terribly vain in those days, still was—but now he failed to see the worth in owning the most exquisite gemstone earrings in a string of countries where no one knew the meanings. Just the same, today he wore a plain silver hoop, elegant and twisted—and never a part of that complex code. Fingering said earing, Fai headed up to pay. By the counter hung a cloak; lovely white, with an utterly familiar blue mark traced intricately over the back. Adding it to the pile, he paid for it as well before slipping out into the snow.

His new cloak was warm and comfortable, much like the one he'd lost to Yuuko-san, and some comfort as he strode the chilly streets. In marginally better spirits, Fai decided that his earlier quest for a good cup of tea seemed reasonable. There was a small cafe, just down the street from where he stood, and Fai made for it with a bit of eagerness in his step. There! He could already smell it—the warm scents of fresh-brewed tea and baking pastry; Fai's mouth watered.

The menu board was indecipherable; would have been even if Fai had been sure of the language, chalked as it was in a cramped, handwritten scrawl. However, no one seemed to be so much as glancing at it anyway. Fai walked up to the polished dark wood counter with a fairly genuine smile of anticipation on his face.

"What kinds of tea do you have?" He asked the young lady behind the counter, a tall girl with long hair and a sweet smile. She gestured to the back wall, where a long row of labeled jars were squatted like fat little toads. "ah, thank you miss. I'd like a cup of the Sai Silverleaf, please."

"Hot or cold?"

"Hot, please." Fai shuddered slightly at the notion of cold tea on a day such as today. Paying for his drink, the mage took the delicate china cup in long-fingered hands. Carrying it towards one of the small tables, Fai bumped into someone, looked up—and froze.

_It isn't him_. His mind reached the conclusion even as his pulse beat a slow danger-song in his ears; the cup slipped from suddenly limp fingers and smashed on the flagstone floor. The other paused, his expression puzzled, and Fai wanted to run, but could only stand there—immobile—locked in place like a statue of ice.

"_Ashura..._" the word slipped from suddenly dry lips without Fai's thought or permission, and hung in the air like some venomous creature. A startled look replaced the puzzled, and in that moment Fai relaxed. That expression... his Ashura would never let shock show so plainly on his face. A duplicate, then, another man with his soul. Fai's smile was almost cheerful as he bent over to pick up the shattered pieces of porcelain, effectively hiding his face.

He certainly did not expect Ashura to join him on the floor, broad, scarred hands exactly as he remembered them.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me." The man said, voice cool and even, having already regained it's usual composure. Even _knowing_ who it wasn't, that voice sent chills down Fai's spine. "You know my name and I have not had the pleasure of yours." Fai swallowed hard, still not meeting the other man's eyes as he searched the floor for any more chips of ceramic.

"Fai." he answered uncomfortably, and forced himself to look up. "My name is Fai." Those dark eyes were watching him, warmer and calmer than he ever remembered seeing them. Fai forced himself to breath, as a memory tried to rise in his mind, only to be pushed back. That had been a long time ago, a lifetime and many worlds away. Ashura smiled then, a curiously sweet expression.

"I believe I've heard of you, Fai—if you happen to be a wizard." This brought an enigmatic smile to Fai's lips, the sheer irony of being mistaken for himself.

"I guarantee I'm not who you think I am, and if you've heard of someone with my name, he is not me." _Not in this world._

"Could I ask how you know me, then? I take care to keep my face from being too well known."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Fai's smile was sad and distant, and he found himself strangely at ease with this Ashura. This was how _he_ had been in the good times, this casual elegance laced with distant kindness. But this felt different somehow; not distant, but a deep caring who's object was arbitrary but who's strength was uncountable.

"Perhaps." He conceded the point with the air of one agreeing to be polite. They both rose, and Ashura followed Fai to the counter. "If you are like the Fai I've heard of, you'll be looking for a better cup of tea than they serve here." It was a statement, not a question, as they set the pieces of the broken cup on the counter. Fai noticed that Ashura placed a silver with the pieces to pay for the cup, and couldn't help but be glad; his own finances had been stretched by even the cup of tea.

"He does sound rather like me." Fai thought with a pain of homesickness how in his homeland, three things had been widely known of him—that he was the court magician, that he was fanatic about his tea, and that he was Ashura's constant companion. Clearly, the last was not true here; the first might or might not be, but he had a hunch.

"If you would trust me enough, you could come back to my apartment for tea. I have somewhat finer than you might find here." The speech was formal and slightly faltering, as though he were not used to making such invitations. Then again, if Fai's theory was right, he might not be. The decision was a hard one—Fai was finding himself rather entranced by this man who was so like his former acquaintance, yet seemed so much warmer. His Ashura would never have invited a stranger home for tea.

"I would like that." He spoke the words quickly, acting on a hunch as he had rarely dared too, hurrying before rational thought could catch up. Even so, his smile was not as usually forced.

"Thank you." Ashura's expression shocked Fai; the very slightest shift, but the _change_... it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, like warm fire in the cold, dim day. Fai found his breath quick and shallow and wished, for one moment, that _his_ Ashura had, even for an instant, given that smile to him.

The walk to Ashura's apartment was both awkward and strangely comfortable. Each contributed only a few monosyllabic remarks before falling silent, but the silence was not an uncomfortable one. Fai found himself leaning into the wind, as it plucked at his clothes and hair, embracing him like an old friend. Every now and then, he caught Ashura's eyes on him before the other would quickly look away.

The transition from cold winter air to well-heated rooms was a jarring one, but pleasant, none the less. At a nod from the dark-haired man, Fai entered first, into what was obviously a wealthy man's home. The room he was standing in was small, but lavish; it looked like a sitting room to entertain guests. Bright mage-lights burned in globes on the wall, adding a pale glow to the light from a good fire in the fire-place and drawing unfathomably rich colors from the bright exotic rugs covering the floors. Tapestries hung between the globes, geometric and foreign and woven in rich gemtones that lent the room a certain soft good cheer in addition to the comforting warmth.

"It's lovely." Fai's voice broke the silence as he turned towards Ashura, and was struck again at the very difference between this Ashura and the one of his own home world. Fai's Ashura had been a creature of ice and air—as beautiful as a crystal sculpture, and with just as much warmth. This Ashura, with dark shadows under his eyes and the firelight lending his skin golden highlights, seemed very much human. Fai realized distantly that that only served to make him all the more alluring.

"Thank you." Wordlessly, Fai followed the other man into what was revealed to be a small kitchen painted in reds and golds, not as fabulous as the sitting room but still more than comfortable. There was no noise in the small kitchen save water splashing into the kettle before it was hung over the fire.

"It seems an odd question, but may I ask who you are, here?" Fai was apparently entranced by a painted gold design on one scarlet wall, looking like a sculpture of ice and moonlight in the brightly colored room. His voice was no warmer than ice, wistful and a bit sad. Ashura seemed surprised at the question.

"I had thought you knew, from how you greeted me earlier." He replied, busing his hands from taking tea things down from their golden oak cupboards. "But were it only my word, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." Fai turned to face him, a wide smile frozen on his face. When Ashura remained stubbornly silent, Fai chose to answer for him. "Let me guess. You're the oldest son of a lord who died in battle when you were just a child. You've been told your whole life how someday you're going to have to rule a kingdom, but... how old are you, twenty-three?" Ashura's mouth had fallen open in shock as he regarded the blond mage. "You've finally gotten rid of the regent and are now realizing just how _boring _it is to run a country, so you slip out amongst the lesser folks every so often for entertainment." Fai's voice was decidedly bitter now. "And you've been corresponding with a man—Fai, Fai D. Fluorite. A mage with a fondness for tea. A man," He fixed Ashura with a look, "who is not me, however neat an explanation that would be."

"How...?" Ashura was watching with an expression of utter shock as Fai's smile slid back into place. "My father died before I was born, it was my mother who died in battle. But the rest of it is right, but if you really aren't him... how do you know all this?" The mage was watching him carefully, taking note of fear and puzzlement that could easily be turned to rage, if not handled carefully.

"I, like you, am not all that I claimed." He said simply. He felt a sudden urge to talk to this strangely kind Ashura, to talk about his home world to one who almost knew it. "My name is also Fai D. Fluorite."

"...but you aren't the man I've been writing too."

"Correct. There are superficial similarities, though—like our fondness for tea." _and our fondness for you_, he thought but didn't say, because he didn't know for certain. "I am not from this world, in the most literal of meanings." Fai's expression was wistful as Ashura handed him an empty cup, and wordlessly poured in the hot tea. It smelled of herbs and sugar and memories, and Fai took a lingering sip before he could bring himself to continue. "I come from a world very much like this one, a world called Ceres. In that world, you were also a king...and I was your court musician." He heard his own voice begin the tale, agonizingly slowly, and wondered how far he would tell it this time. Already he was further than he usually got.

"The you there..." he said suddenly, "was not the you from this world. Ashura, my Ashura was a cruel king, with a heart of frozen stone." He was lapsing into the archaic speech of the storybooks, the formal speaking learned painfully from trying so hard to distract himself. "Plague swept across the land, a dreadful sickness with it's roots in magic. Every morning the nobles and the peasants, every man and woman in the palace right down to the servant's children, would come before him and beg him to end the plague." Fai laughed as the words spilled out, a hopeless, mirthless sound that did nothing to slow the string of uncontrollable words. "They thought he was a god, you see—he could have been, with the power passed from king to king. The royal staff held within it the power of every king ever born."

Draining the now-cold tea, Fai poured himself another warm cup. The snow would be flickering and dancing outside now, as pale as the fingers he wrapped around the lovely white-glazed china. "But Ashura denied their requests. He said it was not the affair of a king how many of his subjects fell. They would endure, as their fathers before him, and continue the same taxes that payed for tea and spices, silks and jewels. I heard the people go away crying; yet, I did nothing." He set the cup on the table with a light click, and stared into it as though seeing it all again, the palace made of ice.

"I loved him, you see. He had saved me from myself, cared for me when no one else dared. He was cold but beautiful, and I thought for certain that he loved me, too." Fai's eyes were dark, entranced. He didn't notice as here-and-now Ashura placed his own teacup on the table a little too carefully, or as his hands went to grasp white-knuckled at the arms of his chair.

"Finally I begged him. To help the people. It wouldn't have cost him too much; perhaps a week's time, and a drain on his magic for a little longer. But he denied me, and when I forced the matter he hit me." Fai rubbed his cheek as though still feeling the pain of that long-ago blow. "It was the first time he ever struck me, and the last." Now he looked up at this Ashura, this Ashura who looked stricken and angry and sad and so impossibly hurt that for a moment it stole Fai's breath away, and made his story even harder to continue. "I stole from his bed, in the dead of night, and carried away his staff, the staff of kings before. I used it to lock myself in the top of the tallest tower, and set about ending the plague myself."

"What happened then?" The rich silk voice was soft and uncertain, and it was only then the mage realized how long of a moment had fallen away while he studied the man's expression.

"I fought him, of course." Fai spoke matter-of-factly now, but knew it for a ruse and was fairly sure Ashura did too. "Our battle destroyed much of the castle, but in the end I sealed him in the sacred well of our ancestors. But when that was done I had to leave. I'm still running, really—I don't dare be caught by him when he wakes."

"And the plague?" Ashura had regained some control, but still seemed shaken, oddly vulnerable. Fai found it alluring.

"I don't know." His voice was as dry the ice-fields of the highest mountains, rivers and oceans of water all frozen too solid to drink. "The spell I crafted might have cured it. It might have cured only a few, and left the rest to die. Perhaps I merely stopped the spread; perhaps I did nothing at all." The story done, Fai seemed to become aware of his surroundings again. He took another sip of the second cup of cold tea, and made a face.

They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound the crackling of the great fire in the hearth, the hiss of snow against the roof. "I don't know why I've told you all this." Fai's voice was as thin as the thread of light from a falling star, and immeasurably more distant. "Perhaps I merely needed... to get it off my chest."

"It's often easier to tell terrible things to a perfect stranger." Ashura commented, a sort of agreement, he guessed. "Thank you for telling me." The word seemed inadequate for the weight of emotion still hanging heavy in the air.

Silence settled thickly over the small kitchen, not particularly stressed but far from comfortable. It was the awkward sort of silence that forms when something needs to be said but the words refuse to escape.

"Where are you going now?" Ashura asked, voice soft and distant with a tenderness in his eyes that was utterly unfamiliar. Fai had laid one hand on the table some time during his narrative, and now Ashura laid his own hand over it. In this world, Fai noticed, the broad, long-fingered hands were marked by scars and calluses, tanned dark. How much of a difference it made...

"I'm traveling the worlds. Running, and on a quest of sorts." Some of his usual good humor had returned. "I'm searching for someone's memories, in the form of enchanted feathers. Seen any around?" This time his smile hid his eyes.

"You could stay here with me." The statement was so sudden, and so solemn, even Fai's mask cracked for a moment to show shock and longing. Ashura lifted the mage's hand to his lips, brushing a faint kiss over the knuckles. "Stay, with me." He repeated, this time more certain, more command than request.

Fai shivered at the rush of memories and new sensation. "I can't. I have to help them; they don't know how to stay out of trouble on their own." He did not draw back his hand.

Ashura rose, and Fai found himself on his feet before he had time to think. They stood locked, eye-to-eye and heart-to-heart, just far enough apart to not quite touch.

"These people you travel with, who you trust not enough to tell the story you would share with a stranger? What call do these people have on you?" Fai snatched his hand back, though the force in it was weak.

"I like them. It isn't a matter of trust; telling them would serve no purpose, and would only make Sakura sad." Ashura's gaze grew imploring, as he raised one hand to cup Fai's face, as delicately as one would hold a creature of spun glass.

"Stay with me." He breathed. "Have all that you once had, power and luxury and myself. Just stay with me, keep me from becoming him. Give me a voice I can trust in this world of thieves." His words were soft and utterly intense, and Fai found it hard—so hard—not to just give in and accept.

Finally... "I can't." He said, and the mage's voice was raw with badly repressed emotion. "I can't." He repeated. Then Ashura kissed him. The sensation of lips against his own was startling and soft, strange after so long—he opened his lips a hair's breath and tasted the tea, sweet and bitter and hot. The kiss was soft and sweet with an underlying flavor of desperation, and it was Fai who pulled away.

"I can't." He said a third time, this time with a smile so honest and sad it hurt to look upon. "You aren't him. This isn't my home." He looked up, scanning Ashura's face for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to have found it, for his smile grew a hair less pained. "I'm not the man I was." The mage turned and left the room, headed for the apartment door and the frozen world outside. Ashura made no move to stop him; the door fell shut, and a few flakes of snow began to melt on the carpet.

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AN: Well, hope I didn't kill it too badly. This is only my second time or so writing Tsubasa fanfiction, after all. There may or may not be a companion piece to this, set in another world from Kurogane's point of view; reviews make this much more likely to happen, particularly constructive critiscm. So review! It'll only take you a minute, the spiffy button is _right there._


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